On the Subject of Promises
by Fluff-Slayer
Summary: Before Morgan, before Abdullah, there was a girl and a wedding, and a lot of slithering out. Post-HMC.
1. Part One

1.

Sophie couldn't help but wonder, somewhat irritably, where all the time had gone. One moment Michael and Martha had announced their engagement, and there had seemed so much time to perfect the details of their ceremony - then she had blinked, and everything had fast-forwarded to a month before, then a week before. Now there were three days left.

Three days.

Martha's gown wasn't finished, Michael hadn't even looked into finding a suit (Howl was supposed to have taken care of that, she remembered, beating the breakfast eggs a bit savagely), and the castle, which was to hold the reception, was neither clean nor festive at present. But here was Martha, sitting at the table as calm as you please, finishing the last batch of invitations that should have been sent off a month and a half ago. Shouldn't she be just a bit worried too?

"Maybe we ought to rethink the number of people we've invited," Martha mused, scribbling on an envelope. "I keep coming across names I don't know."

Sophie winced. The guest list was the only thing so far that was finished. "Michael added a few," she said, dropping the eggs onto her sister's plate.

"Yes, but won't it be easier for you if the list is shorter?" Martha took up another envelope, seeming not to notice Sophie's sudden stillness by the stove. "Fewer mouths to feed, I mean."

Sophie tried not to feel guilty about her earlier judgement. "Don't be silly," she said, pulling up a chair and placing her hand atop Martha's. "We'll feed all the mouths that come and send them home with leftovers. I want your wedding to be everything you dreamed it would be."

Martha patted her sister's hand as if Sophie were the one being comforted. This sort of thing still caught Sophie by surprise; it was all very confusing now that Martha had grown up. "I'm just saying, Sophie, that this is very elaborate for what it actually _is. _All I need for a wedding is Michael and a priest." Her tone was light, but Sophie didn't miss the way Martha didn't quite meet her eyes when she said it. The unspoken accusation was: _You're _the one who wants a big ornate wedding.

Sophie didn't have much to say to that, in large part because it was true. She removed her hand and returned to the hearth, which was much too sedate without Calcifer in it. She hadn't seen much of Calcifer, or Howl or Michael or _anyone_, for that matter, since the whole thing had begun. And blast it, I miss them, she thought, dropping the egg shells into the fire.

Fanny came bustling in a few minutes later and whisked Martha and the invitations away with talk of lunch and the cake and Mr. Smith's aspirations of helping Martha in every possible way, and Sophie was faced once again with an empty, quiet castle. This was just as well; she needed to let off some steam. She tied up her sleeves and went in search of the broom.

...

Sophie swept and mopped the main rooms until the floorboards shined. She opened the windows to let the sunlight in and set out fresh flowers and, when these things were done, she went upstairs and repeated the process in her bedroom. The cleaning so greatly improved her mood that she considered going up to Howl's room, at least to open the windows, but she didn't want to slip back into a dark frame of mind. She left it alone.

It would have been nice to have some sort of errand to run, but there was none today; Howl and Michael, wherever they were, were in charge of arranging for the decorations, and Martha's bakery was, of course, in charge of the cake; and while they had ordered most of the groceries needed for the reception, it wouldn't do to cook the stuff three days in advance. No, there was nothing to do now but to settle in that chair before the (decidedly empty) fire and work at finishing Martha's gown.

Sophie wasn't sure exactly why she wanted to avoid this - or why she had doomed herself to do it, when Fanny or Lettie could have and had both offered. She was good at sewing. Even difficult jobs had never troubled her like this, and Martha's gown was so simple. She'd insisted on simplicity, and that was fine with Sophie, who had always felt that too much lace and frill ruined the effect of a nice dress... so why this dread when she retrieved it from her work room? Why this disgust when she draped it across her knees? Sophie was sure she didn't know.

She worked in silence until the afternoon turned golden and faded away, pausing between the penultimate and final stitches to watch the street lamps being lit and wonder where everybody was and what they were doing now. She crossed the room and shut the windows, latched them for the night, and built the fire up tall before she returned to the dress. After racking her brain over what blessing to sew in, she finally settled on something personal enough to warrant a whisper, finished the last stitch, and went up to bed.

The dress lay there in the chair, folded neatly and faintly quivering with its cause, which was, at Sophie's request, to keep Michael from slithering out of her little sister's happily-ever-after.

...

The sun dawned next morning with a vengeance, too early and too bright. Sophie, tangled in the covers, felt numb all over with the cold, and little wonder - she'd left her window open overnight. She kicked herself free and stumbled to close it, very aware of the ache in her head and the gritty quality of her eyes which meant she hadn't slept long or well enough. Her very muscles felt tired, but there could be no lazing about today. She only had two days left to pull all the pieces together.

Halfway through her icy shower the water went warm, and she rushed downstairs afterward to find Calcifer in the hearth. "You're welcome," he said stiffly, catching sight of her on the stairs. "Now, can I have something besides these ashy egg shells? No one's thought to feed me much of anything in a week."

Sophie put some bacon on a pan and fed most of it to Calcifer, following up with two whole eggs and a bit of orange.

"Whose hearth have you been living in, if you don't mind my asking?" At Calcifer's look, she explained, "You said no one had fed you. If you'd been off alone I expect you would have found your own food." Calcifer gobbled up a piece of orange peel and seemed to consider the question, or rather the answer he wanted to give Sophie.

"Last night I went to Suliman's place. He and Howl are trying to find a spell to enlarge this place for the reception." Here he smiled a bit smugly and drew himself up to his full height. "They needed my help - for some reason, whenever they try it on Suliman's house, all the air goes out of it. Bit of a problem."

"A bit," Sophie said. They were still working on spells? What about the decorations? Michael's suit? "Did you happen to see Michael while you were there?"

Calcifer shook his disembodied head. Sophie tried not to look - or feel - too alarmed. They could handle things, she told herself. Trust them or not, she couldn't do it all.

"Where are you going?" Calcifer called after her.

"To pick up all the food we ordered," Sophie told him, putting on both her traveling cloak and one of Michael's. "Please warm up the house before you go. It's frigid in here."

Calcifer frowned at the door after she had gone. He didn't think it was all that cold, but then, he was a fire demon. He sighed, flaring up brighter and warmer and feeling pleased that he had at least gotten a good breakfast out of it.

...

It took Sophie the better part of the day to collect everything, partly because she had to make multiple trips and partly because all the shopkeepers insisted on talking to her about the wedding. The bakery was the absolute worst; Martha wasn't there, but all of her girlfriends were, and they wanted to know what the gown looked like ("Well...it's rather white,"), how the house was coming ("It's quite clean now,"), and how they'd managed to coordinate Michael's suit (Sophie danced around this question, not knowing herself if Howl had even found a suit yet, much less if he had tried to match it to the dress.)

To her surprise, Calcifer was still in the grate - and it was still freezing in the house. Sophie set the basket of breads down rather harder than she'd meant to because her arm muscles sort of gave up halfway through bending and asked as patiently as she could, "Calcifer, would you please warm the room up a bit?"

He looked annoyed. "It can't _still_ be cold. I've hardly let up since you left."

"I'm sorry, but it _is_ cold in here," Sophie said. Her voice was hoarse from talking all day, and her throat hurt. Calcifer seemed to notice this. He watched her put the food away and come slowly to the chair, moving the dress so she could sit. Then he watched her hands shake as she repaired a rip in Michael's cloak and finally asked her, "Is everything all right?"

"Of course," she said, not glancing up. "Why wouldn't it be?"

"Well," said Calcifer, and hesitated. Normally he didn't like to get in the middle of them, as most of their quarrels were childish and solved themselves, but he couldn't shake the feeling that something was different about this one - as if they were all teetering on a cliff without being aware of it, with two separate futures to fall into. "I wasn't sure if this wasn't harder for you than you're letting on," he finished, somewhat doubtfully.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Planning the wedding. Handling it. Considering what's happened."

"Don't be silly," she said. Yesterday she'd said it to Martha, and today she was saying it to Calcifer. Would she say it to Howl tomorrow? No. She probably wouldn't even see him. That was silly in itself; didn't he and Michael come home to sleep? But that would mean they got up at dawn or not long after. It was unlike them, but perhaps the wedding had necessitated it. Perhaps they were quite as busy as she had been... wondering, as Sophie had been wondering, how it would feel to sit idle again when this was all over...

"Sophie," Calcifer said. "Sophie, you're not going to sleep there, are you? Put the needle away. You'll prick yourself."

There was not much use in talking to her now. Calcifer pulled himself from the fireplace and carefully knocked the needle out of her lap before settling in and setting himself, yet again, to the task of warming the house. He didn't like to see her shiver.

...

Howl and Michael came in some time before noon, involved in a discussion about neckties that broke off halfway across the room as both noticed the temperature and began hurriedly shedding their outer layers.

"Calcifer, are you trying to ignite the place?" Howl called, opening the windows. "It's hot as Hades in here. Shrink before you roast us all."

Calcifer shrank, looking troubled. "I didn't _think_ it was cold, but Sophie keeps asking me to warm up the house."

"It _would _be Sophie, wouldn't it," Howl sighed.

Michael glanced into the kitchen, around the back of the chair, and into Sophie's work room. "Where is she, Calcifer?"

"She's just finished her bath," said Calcifer with a glance upward. "Howl, there's something I should tell you about Sophie..."

"What?" said Howl from within the pantry. There was a bit of banging around, and he reappeared with a basket of breakfast meats. Michael, looking greatly cheered by the sight of food, fetched him the frying pan. Howl hooked a stool with his foot and dragged it to the hearth, where he proceeded to plop down and load the pan with little round sausages.

"Wait," said Calcifer, dodging it. "I want to talk to - "

"There will be plenty of time for talking after breakfast," Howl interrupted, pressing in. "Either help or get out of the hearth." Calcifer gave a cry but didn't leave; he bent his head down, like old times, and flared up bright to hasten the cooking. Even so, there turned out to be too little time for talking. Sophie appeared on the stairs just as Howl was cracking the first batch of eggs.

"Mohpee!" said Michael. He swallowed his sausage and smiled sheepishly. "Do you want some breakfast?"

Sophie shook her head. She moved slowly to the table and sat there, looking clean but a bit wilted, as if her head were heavier than usual. At her lack of an answer Howl glanced over his shoulder, but as her back was to them, he couldn't garner much from her expression.

"Sophie, please say something," he said. "You're making Michael nervous." This was not exactly true - Michael was deeply absorbed in his meal - but it got Sophie to turn around.

It was not her expression that startled Howl, but her face itself. She was rather gray, with red-rimmed eyes and a pink nose, and as he looked at her, she bent her arm and sneezed into the crook of it, miserably and wetly.

"Bless you," said Michael to Sophie.

"Thank you," muttered Sophie to Michael.

"This is exactly what I was trying to tell you before," said Calcifer to the wizard. "But you wouldn't listen to me, would you? You never do."

"Sophie!" said Howl. "You look dreadful. What's happened to you?"

"Nothing's happened," said Sophie thickly. "It's only a cold."

"Only a cold, she says." He set his simmering frying pan down upon the stone fireplace and crossed the room in what seemed to Sophie entirely too little time and took her face in his hands. "My dear Sophie, either you have no concept of colds or your optimism has gotten the better of you."

"How's the temperature?" asked Calcifer.

"Slightly cooler than yours," Howl answered him. To Sophie he said, "I know the flu when I see it. It's bed for you today."

"Bed!" exclaimed Sophie. At least she meant to exclaim. What came out of her mouth was more of a sleepy "Bed...?" Howl had already taken her arm and begun to lead her to the stairs, with Michael, greasy-fingered from the sausage, at her other arm, when her brain caught up with the rest of her. "Stop," she said. "I can't just lie about all day. There's too much to be done."

"Sophie," said Howl, "if you haven't got your health, you haven't got anything."

"My little sister is getting married tomorrow," Sophie reminded them. "To you," she added to Michael, with such an accusatory note that he released her arm and took a step away. She gave the arm in Howl's possession a good yank and nearly toppled over - her balance left something to be desired. "I don't suppose either of you have done half of what you should've. Michael, do you even have a suit yet?"

"I...um," stammered Michael, just as Howl said confidently, "Yes, he does. And so do Suliman and I."

"Really?" said Sophie and Michael at once. Michael flushed a deep cranberry and took another step back at the look he received from Howl.

"Yes, really," said Howl. "I'm going to pick all of them up today. But you," he quirked one eyebrow at Sophie, "are going to lie down."

"I _can't!_" said Sophie. "In case you've forgotten, I'm in charge of cooking for all those people. What are you going to do, tell them all to bring a bag lunch? And what about the decorations? This place isn't fit for a reception!" Sophie found that ranting at them gave her energy, rather like the cleaning had, and she mopped at her nose with a sleeve as she continued hoarsely, "Michael, I'm surprised. I expected this from Howl, but not from you. It's _your_ wedding."

Poor Michael did not quite know how to respond to so many accusations at once. He went pale and solidified, looking between Howl by the stairs and Calcifer in the fireplace as if hoping one of them would come to his rescue. "Sophie," he said weakly.

"Why did you expect it from me?" said Howl. He had a strange look on his face.

"Because you can't be counted on for much of anything, of course." To everyone's surprise it was Calcifer who said this. All their faces turned to where he was hovering, free of the fire in the grate. "You're fickle and undependable and irresponsible, even if you don't actually eat girls' hearts, and I'm not sure you can love anyone properly even though you've got your own back." He delivered this monologue with a small, peaceful smile, all the while holding Sophie's gaze across the room. Sophie felt the inclination to contradict him, but she couldn't bring herself to do it - hadn't she been thinking the same things?

"Well," said Howl after a long, uncomfortable pause. Sophie thought he looked rather ill himself now. He looked to her with some difficulty, as if his eyes and her face were opposing magnets. "Take a nap, at least. I'll go out," he said when she tried to interrupt. "I'll pick up the suits and the decorations you need, and we'll all work together to finish it tonight. Fair enough?"

"All right," said Sophie, but he was already gone, pulling the door to. Michael stared after him. So did Sophie. Then they both left the main room, Sophie to her room, Michael, possibly, to his. Calcifer was gone too - he might have slipped out through the chimney while they were staring. No one saw him go.

...

By sheer force of will, Sophie pulled herself from sleep an hour or so before dusk and climbed from the bed. Her room was dim, full of soft shadows that blurred the outlines of her furniture. She passed by the mirror briefly and inspected her reflection: definitely sick, but at least she had her hair back to its proper color. And the wrinkles were gone, that was a plus. She didn't think she would ever be able to take her youth for granted again.

From the hallway she could hear indistinct clinking sounds below. Michael tripped by the end of the staircase, bent double, drawing with a bit of chalk on the clean floorboards. Sophie started down, trying to think of a diplomatic way to tell him she'd just mopped, when Wizard Suliman's voice said, "All right, Michael, that should do it."

"Ben?" said Sophie.

Both of the men looked up. "Well hello, Sophie," said Suliman. He sounded surprised. Michael, trying to wipe the chalk off on his trousers, transitioned from smiling to repentant in a blink.

Sophie stepped carefully over the line Michael had just finished. She could see now that it was part of a magic circle, and a complex one at that. It spanned the entire room and was quite dizzying to look at. Sophie shook her head to clear it and looked up to speak to Suliman, only to find that he had crossed the room and was standing quite near, just as Howl had done. I'm blinking too long, she thought.

Suliman led her to the chair before the fireplace and helped her to sit, as if she were still old and creaky. "You're doing the enlargement spell," she said, to prove she knew what was going on.

"That's right," said Suliman in his grave way. "We need Howl and Calcifer, though. They haven't come back yet."

Sophie wondered if the two had found each other, or if Suliman would have to make do with one or the other. She looked around and realized Michael had disappeared again. She called for him and heard something in the kitchen clang to the floor. He shuffled back into the room, looking hangdog.

"I'm sorry about what I said before," Sophie told him. She meant it, but the headache blooming behind her eyes made it difficult to speak kindly. She pressed a hand to her temple and tried to fix a convincing smile on her face. "Will you forgive me?"

Unobservant Michael noticed nothing, bless him. He beamed at her. "Forgive you for what?" Wizard Suliman smiled gravely at them from the corner, looking unsure of what to say or do, until the front door opened in a rush of cold air and a large package walked in.

Upon closer inspection, the package had legs (with shaking knees) beneath it and arms (with white-knuckled hands) around it. This strange creature bent down and straightened to reveal Howl's head, whose face was flushed and winded-looking. "The decorations are there," he said, gesturing to the box with a jerk of his thumb, "and here are the suits, as requested." He lay the bag down on the table, which was pushed against a wall, and looked, of all people, to Sophie. Michael and Suliman looked at her too.

Sophie, lacking any great epiphanies, coughed hard and sore-throatedly into her arm. She stood up, feeling a bit off balance. "I'm going to start the cooking," she said, or attempted to say - upon trying it, she discovered that her throat was full of some sort of fluid. She waved her hand at their puzzled looks and excused herself to the kitchen.

While Sophie scrubbed her hands pink and tied a rag over her mouth, the wizards in the other room began the final preparations for their spell, which, Sophie knew now, generally involved finding the right place to stand within the circle. "Didn't Calcifer go out with you?" said Suliman from across the room.

"He'll be back any moment," said Howl, whose voice was closer. "Anyway, I think we can manage without him. You start it, Suliman."

Sophie chopped her carrots in a steady rhythm, _clunk, clunk, clunk,_ that made Suliman's strange words from the main room sound like poetry. She finished with the carrots and started potatoes just as Howl's voice joined Suliman's, followed, at length, by Michael's. This must be some spell, she thought to herself, and then the kitchen went cold and dark, and she stopped thinking.

Next moment she was outside in the cold street of Market Chipping, with her chin on a thin shoulder and someone else's too-yellow hair in her eyes. Everyone was breathing rather heavily. "Miscalculation," muttered Howl. "Damn. I thought we had it."

"Blood," gasped Michael.

Sophie lifted her head to see where he was pointing - down between them, on Howl's fine shirt and on Sophie's apron. It was startlingly red and glittering in the flickering light of the street lamps. "Howl, you're bleeding," she said.

"Not me." He fumbled for her apron's tie and pulled it over her head to bunch the rough fabric on her left arm. Of all the things to be aware of, Sophie could feel the trembly strength of his slender fingers through it, and she knew he was more afraid of the blood than she was. "It's all right," she told him.

He just looked at her. In the dark, she could only see half of his face, and that dimly, with dark hallows for eyes and disheveled hair.

In the house, a light flared bright, and there was a strong sucking sound, followed by a little pop.

"I think it's safe to go back in," said Suliman.

"Let's see," said Howl. Michael went hesitantly in, then Suliman, then Howl and Sophie, who were still somewhat tangled together.

Calcifer, back in the grate, was looking haughty. "It wasn't that big a discrepancy," he said to Suliman, who was nearest. "I've put it right."

He had. The room was now four times its usual size and twice its usual depth, with a high, domed ceiling that sloped into a sort of inset rectangle. "Very good," said Suliman.

"Yes," said Howl. "Thank you."

"Who's bleeding?" said Calcifer, ignoring him altogether.

"It's me," said Sophie, remembering. She pushed the reddening apron - and Howl's hand - away to see the cut. It was long and thin and not as deep as she'd thought. "The knife must have slipped. I was chopping potatoes."

"You'd better get that sorted out," said Suliman pointedly. Howl lifted his head and a sort of wizardly look passed between the two of them, in which Suliman pursed his lips and Howl's eyes widened, then narrowed in understanding.

"Yes, let's," he said.

Sophie followed him up the stairs and into the bathroom. It still smelled faintly of Howl's old perfumes, though he used much less of them now. He held out a hand for Sophie's, turned on the water, and held her wrist beneath the warm stream.

"I need to talk to you," said Howl. He wouldn't meet her eyes, but Sophie could watch the top of his head in the mirror, bent beside her own tired face. It was a bit like an out-of-body experience.

"You aren't talking," Sophie pointed out. Howl turned the water off. He looked at her now, full in the face but with a sort of reluctance, as if afraid she would see too much in his eyes. Then, to her amazement, he smiled.

There was something very Howl about that smile, and the lack of apology in it - after all that had happened! She could feel the color rising to her face, and knew that was why he laughed. Somehow, the knowledge cooled her anger into something cold as an iceberg and twice as sharp.

"Why Sophie," he said innocently. "There's no need to look so sinister! You're in front of the door, so I can't possibly run."

"Who says I wanted you?" Sophie said. "I haven't got anything to say. Ben seemed to think _you_ had something to say to _me." _

"Ah," said Howl, waving a finger. "Wizard Suliman is formidable, Sophie, but he's no mind-reader. He sees that you are unhappy, and he assumes I am the cause. I am, aren't I?" he asked conversationally.

"For your information, I'm perfectly content," said Sophie. She shoved him as an afterthought. "No," she cried while he scrambled for a hold on the sink. "I'm more than content. I'm ecstatic. I'm delighted. I am _radiantly happy_ to plan my youngest sister's wedding, and when Lettie and Ben decide to marry, I will be thrilled to do it all again! And do you know why that is?"

"No," said Howl, straightening up. "Pray tell."

"Because," said Sophie, in hardly more than a whisper, "because, you see, Howl, when you are the eldest of three, taking care of the younger two is all you're ever really good for. I don't know what I'll do when they're _both_ gone."

This was a sort of revelation for Sophie - it brought tears to her eyes, which she blinked furiously away - but Howl was unmoved. He folded his arms across his chest and said quite calmly, "As I've already told you, that eldest of three business is nonsense."

Sophie looked at him. It was easy for him to say - he was the youngest of two, in a world where such rules probably didn't even apply. Of course Howl would think everyone was as lucky as he was, that everyone could make their own fortune, as he had done. But Sophie couldn't travel from world to world; she was stuck in this one, soon to be alone and, when it came down to it, useless.

She was crying in earnest now. How foolish I was, she thought, to ever believe that I could live happily ever after. Howl didn't know what he was saying that day - didn't know or didn't think she would take him seriously. But she had. She'd actually believed she could change her fate and live on in the castle with Howl and Calcifer, to share in their adventures and their failures not as a crone but as the lady of the house, possessor of Howl's recently reclaimed heart.

Fool.

"Sophie," Howl began, but she pretended not to hear. She opened the bathroom door with a nod, went to her room, and locked herself in. After awhile, Howl gave up talking outside her door, and she was able to sleep.


	2. Part Two

The morning of Martha's wedding was gray and chilly. The clouds looked heavy and swollen, threatening rain but withholding even a drop so far. Martha, who would have been agitated on the sunniest day, found it increasingly difficult to keep still for the beautician. Fanny had decided that she needed an intricate hairstyle to make up for her simple gown. She'd been in the chair for more than an hour, quite against her will, and everyone was getting a bit tense.

"Where's Sophie?" she asked her mother again. "I'm sure she's in knots over this weather. Do you think Howl and Ben know a sunshine spell?"

"It's normal to be nervous, dear," said Fanny. Her eyes kept straying to the door, in hopes that Lettie would walk through it, leading Sophie. Fanny cleared her throat and forced a smile for Martha's benefit. She sank into the stool at Martha's feet. "Why, I remember the morning I married your father. I was such a mess that I actually -- "

" -- put your dress on backwards. So you've said," said Martha.

"That's right," said Fanny uncertainly, wondering how many times she'd told the story that morning. "But luckily," she invented, "one of the wizards in attendance managed to flip it for me during the bridal march!"

"You made that up," said Martha. "Or changed the story. The other times it was your sister who tipped you off in the atrium, and you had to go running to a coat closet to straighten it."

"Right," said the beautician curtly. "You're finished, miss."

"Finally," said Martha and Fanny in unison. Fanny hurried to help Martha into her coat. Things were almost cheerful then, until they stepped outside -- for no sooner had Martha's heels touched the sidewalk than the heavens opened up, and the torrent started.

The beautician was not pleased to see them back so soon, but as they didn't have an umbrella, there was little to be done for it. Martha excused herself to the powder room for much more time than was necessary for powdering one's nose (particularly when one's nose has already been powdered), and Fanny settled herself with a sigh on the short stool, where she could keep an eye on the door.

--

Lettie came into the castle with Ben's cloak over her head and a very wet, very grave Wizard Suliman trailing behind her. "I know you're superstitious about asking, Ben," she muttered, handing back his coat, "but I don't see how things could get any worse now."

"I have a feeling they're about to," said Suliman. Lettie followed his gaze to the faraway hearth, where the owner of the house was sitting, looking as though he might very well crawl into it. She exchanged glances with Suliman, and said a bit more loudly, "Howl? What's the matter?"

He jumped and looked around for the source of her voice. As they came closer, Lettie could see that he had come in from the rain too and not bothered to dry off -- a series of gray puddles had collected all around him, on the lip of the hearth and the floorboards beneath it. "It's your sister," he said glumly. "Maybe you can figure out what's wrong with her, because I certainly can't."

"Are you two _still_ at it?" said Lettie. "Really, this has gone on long enough." She pulled off her boots for Suliman to dry and made for the stairs, with quite a bit of sisterly irritation in her step. They could hear her in the hall above, rapping smartly on Sophie's closed door. "Sophie, this is your sister speaking. Open up this instant."

Suliman knelt over Lettie's boots and waved the moisture away, then spread out his coat and did the same. Howl thought he must be in for a similar lecture, but the older wizard, when he had finished with his coat, proceeded to return to the door and dry the doormat. His calmness was so unnerving that Howl burst out with, "I just don't understand her, Suliman."

Suliman nudged the doormat back into place with a foot, paused a moment, then sat on a misplaced chair to remove his wet boots. These he cleaned with the same phlegmatic thoughtfulness and attention, removing each lace, pulling out the cloth soles, stretching the tongues into thin rectangles and running his hands over each as if to facilitate a great healing. Howl thought this must be for effect, or part of some odd far-fetched manipulation -- Michael could work faster -- but he couldn't stop himself from fidgeting.

"What am I supposed to do?" he pled.

"Follow through," said Suliman. He laced his boots with a single gesture and looked over at Howl by the fire. "Decide what you mean to do, and follow through with it."

Howl went quite still. "I don't know what you mean."

"Ah, Howl," Suliman sighed. He turned his craggy face to the window, where the rain still streamed in its cold gray rivulets. "You're the cleverest wizard Ingary's ever known, but you're still a coward."

--

Sophie could not be bothered to get up and open the door for Lettie, but that didn't stop her; after a moment or two of scratching sounds and frustrated mutterings, it came open of its own accord. Lettie strode in, smoothing her curls, damp about the stockings and obviously frazzled. "Are you still in bed?" she demanded. "Have you forgotten what _day_ it is, Sophie? Martha's going to be married!"

"Yes, she is," said Sophie to the far wall. "Fortunately, as she's told me, only Michael and a priest are necessary for that. I trust someone else can see those two into their proper suits?"

Lettie seized a corner of the bedclothes and yanked them, to no avail. "That's all talk. She needs you today, Sophie, as do we all, so you're going to have to get up."

That did it. Sophie let go of the sheets and allowed Lettie to peel them away. She refused Lettie's offer of a bath and simply switched her nightdress for a sedate, ribboned blue one. "There," she said. "Let's go."

"Sit down," said Lettie ominously. Sophie sat, not least because her head was still rather fuzzy, and endured Lettie's ministrations with a multitude of grooming supplies that seemed to appear out of nowhere. She dozed off a bit during the hair-brushing but came more awake when she heard Howl's name.

"What about him?"

"I said, what's gotten you two into such a flap? Last I checked you were going to live happily ever after." When Sophie didn't answer, she went on, "And he'd exploit you, and you'd cut up his suits to teach him, as if that boy could _be_ taught -- wasn't that how it went?"

"Saying it and meaning it are very different things," Sophie said at last. She straightened her shoulders and tried to look unconcerned. "Anyway, I've got you and Martha, and now Fanny. I don't need Howl or anyone else."

Lettie paused with her hand within a massive tangle and bent her face around to Sophie's, looking cross. "This is that eldest of three business again, isn't it?"

_-- _

_  
_"He's right, you know," said Calcifer.

Both wizards turned to see the fire demon hurrying down the chimney, fizzling with wet and grinning from ear to blue ear at Howl. "Defeat the Witch of the Waste, fine, he'll manage it somehow, but face him with a girl who loves him and he's plain terrified. Slither out, Heartless Howl, slither like the worm you are, and see where it gets you."

"How's Michael faring?" said Suliman.

"He's fidgety," said Calcifer. He had not broken contact with Howl's eyes yet, nor had the wizard; neither moved for a moment, and it was something like old times. Then Howl lowered his chin and stood away from the hearth, looking disgruntled.

"It seems everyone has something to say to me today."

"Howl," began Suliman.

"You can add Michael to that list," Calcifer interrupted, smirking. "His suit doesn't fit correctly at all. The women will have your head."

"Never mind," said Suliman before Howl could answer. "I'll see to it. I'll have to retrieve the priest anyway." He had his coat and boots on in an instant. Howl saw him to the door, more to distance himself from Calcifer than for courtesy's sake.

Suliman paused on the doorstep with the gray light slanting across him and the wind in his hair, and for a moment he might have been Benjamin Sullivan standing on a doorstep in Wales, with no magic or extraordinary knowledge or scars. And what he said, so low that Calcifer leaned forward in the grate, was in keeping with that memory.

He said: "You can stand at a crossroads forever, Howl, but the roads won't merge. You have to choose one or the other of them."

With that, he left.

Howl shut the door.  
Calcifer cackled at him as he turned around. "Right again."

--

"Come off it. It doesn't matter what order we were born in."

"But it does."

"No it _doesn't!_ Look at how we've ended up here, Sophie. Think about it. Fanny intended Martha to be the witch, but she's the only one that isn't -- she's the most ordinary of any of us, can't you see that? She's happier baking cakes than she ever was learning spells!"

"We haven't 'ended up' yet," said Sophie patiently. "We're all still young. But watch and see -- "

Lettie stamped her foot. "You're being dense! Nobody ever dreamed I was smart enough for witchcraft, but Ben says I've got as much potential as anyone he's ever met! You can be whatever you want if you're willing to work for it! Sophie -- "

Sophie was startled to see angry tears standing in her sister's eyes. "Oh no, Lettie. Please don't cry."

Lettie stepped away from her outstretched arms and stood so rigidly that Sophie lowered them. "If you believe that about yourself, then you must believe it about me too," she said. "I'm not supposed to come to much either. So, what, Martha's the only one of us that's worth anything?"

"No," said Sophie wearily. "No, of course not. I'm proud of you both."

"And we're proud of you!" said Lettie. "We're proud of how far you've come since the hat shop, and we'll be proud of you no matter what you become. But you have to make the choice to become something. No one can do that for you."

"I know that," Sophie said. "I know." She reached for Lettie's hand. Lettie allowed herself to be drawn to the bed. She sat down beside Sophie and snifflingly buried her face in Sophie's half-brushed hair until both their eyes were dry.

"I don't think you believe in that silly prophecy anymore," Lettie said, taking up the hairbrush again. Her voice was quite level and conversational now, but the words set a shiver up and down Sophie's neck. "You're blaming it for things that aren't its fault."

"For instance?" said Sophie.

"Howl," said Lettie simply. "He can't make up his mind about you, and you're in pieces about it, understandably. Everyone knows how he feels but him, Sophie. It's only a matter of time. All you can do is have your answer in mind for when he asks you."

"Ah," said Sophie, rather faintly. She could feel her cheeks warming. "Yes, well."

Lettie laughed her sparkling socialite laugh. "Sophie," she teased, "who is it that you love most of all?"

Sophie didn't know what to say to that. She turned her face to the far wall with no intention of answering and exclaimed, "Michael and Ben!"

_"What?"_ said Lettie. But then she spotted Michael and Suliman hovering outside the window and understood. She unhooked the latch and Michael stepped gingerly in, dripping about the ends of his robes and followed by a very disgruntled priest.

"Father," said Sophie and Lettie, surprised.

"Girls," said the priest stiffly.

"Wow, I've never seen your room before," he Michael. "It's a lot cleaner than mine."

"Not anymore," said Sophie.

"What's all this?" said Lettie. "Ben?"

"Fanny's decided to move the ceremony here, due to the weather," said Suliman. "I'm going for them now."

"I'm not to see Martha until it starts," said Michael gloomily.

"Surely you could have come in through the front door," said Lettie, with a glance at the priest.

Suliman smiled at her significantly. "Howl and Calcifer are talking. I didn't want to interrupt."

Sophie leapt up like a woman electrocuted, looking horrified. "Talking or not, we've got to get down there, Lettie! The decorations aren't finished!"

"What!" said Lettie. "I hadn't noticed that!"

"I'll be back in two shakes," Suliman promised. "We'll manage if everyone pitches in." He kissed the top of Lettie's head and sailed away with his great gray umbrella, drawing much attention from the rainswept passerby below. Everyone looked to Sophie, who promptly sneezed.

"Right," she said around her handkerchief. "Michael, into your suit. Lettie, Father, come with me."

--

"So?" said Calcifer. "Which road are you going to take?"

"Now, now," said Howl, straight-faced. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you were concerned, Calcifer."

"Interested," corrected Calcifer. "And there you go again, slithering out. Can't you ever once just commit to something?"

"Ah," Howl sighed. "Everyone will insist on asking me that lately."

"Answer one and you'll answer them all," said Calcifer. "Or can't you do it?"

"Maybe not. I'm a worm, remember?"

"And still slithering!"

"So what if I am!" Howl exclaimed suddenly. "So what if I spend the rest of my life avoiding questions? It's served me well this long, I'll have you notice. I've saved all our lives multiple times by withholding the right answers from the wrong people. Just look at our Contract."

"You're rambling," said Calcifer.

"I am _not!" _

"You're not what?"

Only Sophie's voice could have deflated him in quite that manner. Howl and Calcifer both swiveled to see her coming down the stairs with Lettie and, oddly, a damp sort of priest.

"Father?" said Howl.

"Wizard," said the priest sourly.

"Sorry to interrupt," said Lettie with a glance at Calcifer. "Fanny's decided to move the ceremony here, and Ben's gone to get Martha, and we've got hardly any time to get the place together."

"Hell's teeth!" exclaimed Howl. "Sorry," he added to the priest.

"Never mind," said Sophie from across the room. "Here's the box! Everybody grab something!"

They did. For quite a while the castle was in utter chaos, with Sophie and Lettie rolling out the aisle, and Howl distributing lit candelabras to the tables, and the priest hobbling about with plates and flatware and Calcifer hovering at a perfect height to singe everybody's hair, magicking things about the room. Michael stumbled down the stairs with his eyes covered and nearly killed himself tripping over every chair present, yelling to the room at large that it was his wedding, he was going to help.

Then, wonder of wonders, the door opened, and Martha and Fanny and Suliman came in, and the room went still.

"What?" said Michael loudly from behind his hands. "What's going on?"

"Oh, Martha," sighed Lettie. "You look beautiful."

She certainly did. Her hair was done up in an intricate nest of springing curls, held with a lacework of tiny silver pins that ended in miniscule pearls; her face, bearing only the lightest touch of powder, shone with all the innocence of her youth. Martha went sweetly pink beneath their scrutiny, and gathered up her skirts to make for the stairs. They heard her murmur to Michael as she passed, "They'll stone you if they catch you peeking."

The magic broke the moment Martha's long trail disappeared behind the banister, with even more scurrying and noise than before. Fanny passed her handbag to Suliman and joined in with as much gusto as anyone. They worked on at this feverish pace until the guests began arriving; then Michael had to be spared to seat people, and Howl had to be spared to arrange the chairs into rows, and Sophie remembered her unfinished pies and disappeared with a yelp into the kitchen, followed by Lettie, who was trying to tuck her hair back into place -- and then Fanny went up to see about bringing Martha back, and poor Wizard Suliman was left standing by the door to smile gravely and accept the guests' coats and hats.

The priest, for his part, was very calm about the whole thing. He stood behind the tall white pulpit with hardly a glance at the entering crowd and seemed absorbed in cleaning his spectacles until Sophie came, dragging Michael to the alter, to tell him they were ready.

"I'm not sure I am," Michael gulped. "Maybe we could have another moment to talk things over?"

"This is no time for cold feet," said Howl, stepping neatly over a potted plant to neaten Michael's collar. "You've made your decision, now you've got to follow through."

"Hmm," said Suliman to the plant.

"I'm going to get her now," said Sophie to Michael. "Stay put."

"Right," Michael quavered after her. "Yes, I suppose I'll just... Howl, I really don't think I can do this."

"Do hold still, please. Your boutonnière's about to fall out."

"I think you'd better be getting on," said the priest to Suliman.

"Yes, I suppose we should," said Suliman. "Howl?"

"Howl," Michael begged.

"It's just one little song," said Howl. "You can last that long, can't you?"

"Um," said Michael.

"Howl," said Suliman.

"See you in a tick," said Howl, and he stepped down with Suliman. Michael swallowed hard and tried not to see faces within the sea before him. It looked as if all of Market Chipping and half of Porthaven had turned up for the occasion; the guest list hadn't seemed so long when it was only names.

Oh, Martha, he thought. What have we gotten ourselves into? We're not old enough to be married. I'm not even a wizard yet.

The organist struck up a mournful variant of wedding march, and Michael felt fairly certain that his heart had leapt into his mouth and was now performing a sort of drunken waltz on his tongue.

--

Behind the door, in the magically-expanded foyer, there was a good deal of scurrying to line up. Lettie took Suliman's arm with a comfortable sort of intimacy, and remarked something to him softly, with a smile; Howl and Sophie stood behind them, touching as little as it is possible to do whilst joined at the elbows.

"Could that woman play any slower?" Howl muttered. "Michael's going to have a conniption."

"I had to book the funeral organist," said Sophie, rather stiffly. "And Michael will be fine."

"I told him that, but I don't think he believed me."

Behind them, Martha had taken the arm of Fanny's Mr. Smith. She smoothed an imaginary lump in her hair and tried to remember not to make a face at Fanny, who was dabbing at her eyes _again._ "All my girls are grown now," said Fanny tearfully.

"Ah, yes," said Mr. Smith. To all appearances these were his favorite words; they were the only ones he'd spoken since his arrival by carriage.

"I think the priest is trying to wave us in," said Lettie, peeking through the door. "Are you ready, Martha?"

"Yes," said Martha, a bit too firmly. "Go on, Lettie."

Lettie and Suliman gave the door a push. All the guests turned in their seats to watch the procession, which was so slow that some of them lost interest and turned to look back at Michael, whose face was changing colors with impressive speed and variety.

"This is dreadful," whispered Sophie. "Do something!"

"Such as?" whispered Howl.

"I don't know -- bespell the organist!"

"I don't play the organ!"

"Oh, you're useless," said Sophie. She cast her eyes across the room and tried to keep sight of the organist's hands over all the towering dress hats. "Now listen up, hands, I know you can play faster than that!" she murmured. "This is a wedding, for heaven's sake! Do pick up the pace!"

The hands obeyed her, much to the organist's alarm -- her mournful march became a sort of crazy hay dance. Lettie and Suliman tried to keep up, with the result that both of them got tangled up in Lettie's skirts and nearly fell. "No, no," said Sophie hurriedly, clutching at Howl's arm, "_sweetly,_ hands, sweetly! Don't get carried away!"

The march slowed and sank in volume. It became quite difficult to keep in step with one another then because the music was hard to hear; but no one noticed them anyway, for Martha and Mr. Smith were visible now.

Lettie and Sophie split to the left of the pulpit, while Howl and Suliman took their places beside Michael on the right.

"What did you _do?"_ hissed Lettie.  
"Um," said Sophie.

" 'I don't play the organ'?" said Suliman.

"I wanted to see what she'd do," whispered Howl. "I didn't think she was tall enough to see over that forest of hats!"

"Oh," said Michael faintly. _"Look."_

All of them turned to watch Martha float up the aisle, looking radiant and flushed and nervous. The organist finished with a masterful flourish and stared in amazement down at her hands, and Martha held her skirts to ascend the steps.

"Dear friends," said the priest, "beloved family, it is with great pleasure that I welcome you here to witness the sanctifying of a love and the solidifying of an oath..."

Michael and Martha stood together on the stage, and each had eyes only for the other. They might have stood like that for the remainder of the ceremony had not Howl given Michael a push and Lettie and Sophie whispered, "Take his hand!"

Martha did. They both took a deep breath and let go of it, and smiled shakily.

"Now," the priest said, "please present the rings."

Silence.

Neither Howl nor Suliman moved to check their pockets. Lettie let out a small, "Oh dear." The whole wedding party looked at Sophie, who had gone pink.

"Does no one have the rings?" said the priest, peering over his glasses.

"It would seem not," said Howl.

"I knew we'd forgot something," said Martha musingly to Michael.

"Did we even buy rings?" said Michael to Howl.

"I didn't even think of them," Sophie moaned. "Oh, Martha, I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry," said Martha. "I didn't think of it either."

"Wait," said Lettie suddenly. "Where's Ben?"

Wizard Suliman seemed to have disappeared in the midst of their squabble. He came through the door a second time and jogged up the aisle, took the stairs by twos, and held out a fist each to Michael and to Martha. Everyone, on the stage and otherwise, leaned forward to see what they'd gotten.

"It's a ring," said Michael in wonder. "But how -- ?"

"Later," murmured Suliman. Lettie looked as radiant as Martha then, gazing at him, and Sophie, for lack of anyone to look gaze at, searched the room for Fanny, who was now sobbing into the cravat of a vague-looking Mr. Smith.

The priest cleared his throat like a schoolmaster and, as in a schoolroom, the conversations ceased abruptly. "May we proceed?" he inquired.

"Yes please," said Martha.

"Ah -- yeah, do," said Michael, when Howl nudged him. The frowning priest straightened his glasses and cleared his throat.

"Do you, Michael, take this woman to be your wife?"

Michael looked at Martha. All the blood that had gone out of his face came back now in a magnificent rush of warmth. He smiled as he said, "I do."

Everyone on the stage released a breath they weren't aware of holding. Fanny, in the back, let out an echoing sob. After that, it was the simple matter of doing Martha's vows and putting on a few rings, and they were wed.

--

The reception was a good deal calmer than the ceremony had been, and also, with the departure of the priest, a good deal freer of dour looks. Howl and Suliman took turns teaching Michael the furniture-rearranging spells while Sophie, Lettie, and Martha joined Fanny (and several of Martha's bakery friends) in the kitchen. To Sophie's despair, all the pies had burned.

"Well, dear, that's all right," said Fanny.

"No it isn't," said Sophie. "Martha, I'm so -- "

"Sorry again?" said Martha. "I told you to stop apologizing. It doesn't suit you at all." She turned to one of the gusts by the door and said, "Ingrid, who's working at the shop today?"

"Bill, I think," said Ingrid, slowly. Her plain little face lit up with understanding. "Oh! Should I go ask if -- ?"

"See what he's got on hand," said Martha. As the girls filed out, she explained, "The shop's stocked full on Saturdays, and we usually sell out. But since most of Kingsbury seems to have shown up here..."

"What an excellent idea," said Fanny. She pulled all three into a sudden hug. Martha and Lettie tried not to look flustered and waited until Fanny let go to smooth their hair, but Sophie was touched. She hugged Fanny back and kissed both her sisters.

"What was that for?" said Martha. "You're acting strange."

"I'm just proud of you," said Sophie. "Both of you. You're all -- "

"Grown up, yes," said Martha impatiently. "And so are you, Sophie, and we're proud of you, and everybody loves everybody else. Now, are we all quite finished with the proclamations of love?"

"Not yet," said a deeper voice. The women turned to see Howl standing in the doorway. Even Sophie had to admit that he looked like quite the gentleman in his fine suit and serious expression; his green eyes were very definitely on Sophie, though his next words seemed more to himself: "I'm a bit behind time in that department."

Fanny, Lettie, and Martha excused themselves. Sophie hardly noticed. She could feel the universe contracting around her, shrinking to include only herself and the wizard, no, man before her. Howl crossed the kitchen in two strides, further reducing the universe, and took Sophie's hands in his.

There was a bit of a pause. Sophie swallowed hard and tried to bring herself back to the reality of the situation, whatever that might be; Howl blinked and lowered their hands, looking a bit blank. "Huh... I didn't think this far. Wonder what's next?"

Sophie didn't trust herself to answer. She stared at the burned pies over Howl's shoulder until he took her chin and tipped it up.

"I've been meaning to ask you something," he said hesitantly, "for awhile now, Sophie. But I've had trouble... that is, I've had some difficulty finding the right time and place to do it." They both looked around the kitchen then -- messy, slung with splattered filling and rejected pie crust, smelling faintly of something charred -- and realized what was actually happening. Sophie had the grace to blush for Howl, and for her own hardheadedness; Howl never had the grace to blush for anyone, much less himself, but he came very close to it then. He cleared his throat.

"You were a hideous old woman," he began. "Really hideous. And cantankerous. And nosy. Several times I thought of throwing you out, and perhaps I should have, Sophie, but I couldn't. I haven't got the heart for it, and frankly I... I've... lost my place again."

Sophie didn't bother to contradict him on the subject of hearts. She knew what he meant and rather appreciated the effort. "Something you wanted to ask me," she prompted, trying not to sound too involved.

"Ah," said Howl. "Right. That. I've been meaning to ask for some time. Sophie, do you... that is to say, _will_ you...?"

"Yes," said Sophie simply.

Howl had really lost his place now. He was still and silent for nearly half a minute before

it registered.

"You do? You will?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

Howl swept her up in an embrace that left her feet dangling above the ground -- quite a feat, considering his size. "I meant what I said. We'll have our happily-ever-after, Sophie. You can count on that."

"If your promises meant anything, I'd ask for one," said Sophie with a smile. "But I think you do mean it this time."

"I do," said Howl. "I will."

"Marvelous," said Sophie.

There was another pause. Both of them were rather under the impression that they should kiss, but neither was sure how to go about doing it. It was all a bit surreal, Sophie thought, as the universe shrank to the scant inches separating them. To think that she'd thought Howl heartless... well, he _had_ been, at the beginning. But now...

Now she could feel his heart beating against her hand with as much enthusiasm and desperation as a bird caught up in a net. Their lips met for the barest, fiery instant, and that was enough. Sophie buried her face in his neck to preserve the moment and keep it chaste. There would be plenty of time for wild kissing later, when the house wasn't so full. Perhaps they would make use of the expansion spell...

"You realize what this means," said Sophie at length.

"Probably," said Howl into her hair. "I'm the cleverest wizard of my age. But, for conversation's sake...?"

"It means we're going to do this again," said Sophie, pulling back. She gestured around at the destroyed kitchen -- and, figuratively, the endless weeks of scurrying about, and planning, and general confusion. "All of it. And not just once -- you know Lettie and Ben mean to be married soon."

"Ah," said Howl. "Yes, there is that." He made a great show of considering the matter, stroking an imaginary beard and setting his mouth -- oh! thought Sophie, that _mouth_ -- at a pensive slant. Then he snapped his fingers and said, "I think I've found a solution."

He told her. Sophie gaped at him. For three and a half seconds she teetered between panic and downright terror; then she threw her arms about his neck and they spun, laughing, around their disaster of a kitchen.

--

"Two weddings? At _once?"_

The morning after the wedding was cheerfully sluggish. Most of the debris had been cleared away, and the entire wedding party was crowded about Howl's table for a leisurely breakfast. Lettie leaned forward in her chair and set her elbow in a pool of syrup without noticing. She stared at her elder sister in apparent shock.

"It was only an idea," said Sophie hastily. "If you'd rather have your ceremony first, we'll -- "

"Oh _Sophie!"_ Lettie reached across the table, knocking a pitcher of cream and somebody's juice, both of which were deftly steadied by one of the wizards present, and seized up Sophie's hands. "Sophie, I never dreamed -- this is just so perfect -- _when?"_

"Ah," said Sophie, with a glance at Howl. Howl smiled over the rim of his teacup and glanced at Suliman, who was smiling gravely at the ceiling in reverie or prayer.

"How about May Day?" suggested Michael.

There was a great deal of choking on tea and snorting and even some muffled laughter (apparently from the hearth), but Howl said above the noise, "Well, why not? It's a lovely time of year. The weather's perfect."

"And the town's in high spirits," added Lettie, warming to the idea.

_"And,"_ said Martha, "Cesari will give you fabulous deal on your cakes, on top of the fabulous deal I've already talked him into."

"So why not?" said Michael, trying very hard to mimic his teacher's nonchalance. "Why can't you?"

Howl stood up so abruptly that the napkin in his lap flew and landed half in the teapot. "Are we all in agreement, then? May Day it is."

Martha's wedding party cheered. Glasses of juice clinked together, sisters clasped hands and congratulated one another and, when the temptation grew too much, stood up to hug; wizards and wizard apprentices, unwilling to embrace, shook hands. It was Calcifer, lacking arms to hug with and hands to shake with and feeling a bit bitter about it, who called into the confusion, "But May Day's only three weeks away!"

The stillness was so sudden that someone might have cast a freezing spell on the whole room. As seemed to be the standard at times when the plan was in question, everyone turned to Sophie.

She looked around at their fading smiles and, in Howl's case, raised eyebrows, and though her heart pounded at the idea of the rushing and worrying and chaos that would doubtless follow, she lifted her chin and smiled at Calcifer.

"We've got two and a half wizards, two witches, and a fire demon," she said, "not to mention Martha -- and Fanny and Mr. Smith. I think we'll manage."

--

The End.

--

_T__hanks for reading -- hope to see you at the sequel! :] _


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